


Eschaton

by VerdantMoth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Immortal Merlin, M/M, Reincarnated Arthur, Vegas, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-08-23 16:30:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16622420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: Arthur shrugs. “We thought the prophecies were set in stone. That because they were said they had to come true. But we failed, back then. The rest was never going to happen, Merlin. It was doomed from the first mistake.”





	Eschaton

Merlin finds that the end of the world comes, not with a bang but with a whisper. The end of the world, his world at least, is the sounds sucked from from his ears and a sword shoved through a belly.

Death is a quiet breath escaping bloody lungs.

When he finally hears the end of the world, Camelot’s flags flutter to the ground like leaves gentle drifting from autumnal trees. Death cares little for kings and sorcerers, no matter how mighty they are meant to be.

It surprises him, then, that the world keeps moving on around him. Faces wrinkle and hair fades and bones turn to dust, and yet Merlin exist. He just, keeps, existing. It is exhausting, really, watching all the flags crusting in the mud.

Hearing the sound of so many good men die.

Death is silent though, the quietest embrace, like a winter gently arriving too early off summer. Always the quiet breath escaping from their lungs, a world that goes silent for a moment as they fall to knees, crumple on sides, slump over in chairs.

It is startling though, open mouths and wide eyes and furrowed brows. Death has no respect for station or class. No concern about blood lines or fate.

On a sleepy, drizzly Tuesday in a city known for its deserts and lights, Merlin finds that Destiny cares as little for Death as he does.

He’s dropping coins into a slot, coins that have no value here but fit the machine, when the noise of the world explode around him in a symphony he has not heard since he left the boards of a kingdom only remembered in myths.

“What do you mean it’s no good? Money is money.”

The voice, that inbred sense of superiority, is as familiar to Merlin as the ache in bones too old for this lifetime. He turns, and it’s like water slips from his ears. Suddenly he is aware of the chinking and ringing and laughing and screaming.

Color burst in front of his eyes, like dust blown from stained glass windows. He abandons his jackpot, less money than he already has but more than one needs for a lifespan.

He knows people are watching so he mumbles under his breath a spell to sedate them as he sheds years and decades. By the time he reaches Arthur, his is young; perhaps as young as he was when they first met, or as young as he was when they last met.

The sedation spell fades quickly, it was only meant to allow him to deage in peace, but it does not stop him from grabbing that face between his own lukewarm hands.

Arthur looks at him with boredom. “You always were a little slow, Merlin.”

He laughs, high and manic and unhinged, but he laughs until his belly aches and tears blur his vision. “You are back!”

Arthur smacks his hands away. “Yes, sure. Anyway, Merlin, explain to this man that gold is gold and silver is silver.” He waves coins in Merlin’s face.

“You’re in America. They like to collect our coins, but they can’t spend them. Here,” he fishes a truly ridiculous amount of cash from his pocket and shoves it at Arthur, who promptly throws his hands up in the air. “Well of course you’re well to do now.”

He shoves the bills away and his own coins back into his pocket. “Suppose I won’t need to win the jackpot anymore.” He studies Merlin for a long moment.

“Suppose you’ve already won it, haven’t you?”

Merlin shrugs. Arthur jerks his head and Merlin follows him. Outside he can smell the heat and the dust, sweat off Arthur and grease from fried carnival fair.

“Where is the carnival?”

Merlin shrugs. “Isn’t one. That’s just what they eat in this city.”

Arthur nods. “You know why I’m back?”

“No. Assumed it meant the world was ending.”

“Oh, she always is. But she finds her way back to life.” Arthur grins, and Merlin thinks it’s a grim joke, but he doesn’t complain. Arthur’s face grows serious as they walk down the path. He leads Merlin into an oriental restaurant and orders steamed dumplings, which are Merlin’s favorite. Merlin wants to know if its coincidence, or if he somehow knows.

“This time it means Camelot is ending.”

Merlin quirks a brow. “Camelot has been gone, for a long time Arthur.”

Arthur nods. Merlin doesn’t think it is in agreement, but he remains silent as they eat, until Arthur reaches across to grip his hands. “The last true piece of Camelot is ending, Merlin. It was never meant to last forever.”

Merlin, he doesn’t get it. “Arthur, Arthur is been centuries. There is no Camelot.”

Arthur shakes his head, somewhat sorrowfully. “Merlin, you great idiot. Camelot has existed as long as you have. You have kept her alive, and the world needed that. Needed you to exist as a conduit to that magic. But look around you. The world neither wants, nor needs you. It’s time to come home.”

Merlin shakes his head. “I cannot. You’re back. Our time is now!”

Arthur shrugs. “We thought the prophecies were set in stone. That because they were said they had to come true. But we failed, back then. The rest was never going to happen, Merlin. It was doomed from the first mistake.”

Merlin grows frustrated. He rips his hand away and tries to tame his voice.

“But I am still here! We must be meant to do more!”

Arthur shakes his head. “You’ve already done so much more than you were ever meant to. The world will go on, Merlin. Without you. But your world, this life, it is ending.”

The fight drains out of Merlin, slow and heavy like Molasses. “Then why are you back?”

“For you, of course. You have many years ahead. Enough that most people would consider it a long time.”

Merlin cuts him off with a snarl. “Then why are you here now?”

Arthur stands and walks out and Merlin has no choice but to follow him. “Why are you here now?”

Arthur doesn’t answer; he just keeps walking, leading Merlin through back alleys and glitzy halls until he lets himself into Merlin’s room.

Merlin stands in the doorway and watches as Arthur makes himself comfortable.

“You have many years, but they will be short to one such as you, Merlin. I’m meant to guide you to the stars.”

Merlin slowly walks in, and settles himself on the bed next to Arthur. He curls into his side and listens. “Arthur, can you hear the chimes and the bells?”

Arthur places a kiss in Merlin’s dark curls as he drifts asleep. “Perhaps you have fewer years than I thought, old friend.”

 


End file.
